She sleeps in the top windowed bunk of a dollhouse bed. It is her own private haven, a retreat for the only introvert in a family of six. She has filled it with so many pillows and blankets and stuffed animals that on the admittedly rare occasion when I climb up there for the intense feat of changing her sheets I giggle the entire time.
At night when she cries out Mama in her sleep I reach my hand through the window and grope amongst the lumps until I find a little head or arm to comfort.
She sighs and slips away again.
Oh, how I love this baby girl.